


The Trouble In The Woods

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails/The Witcher (video game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, because i think flint would be a terrific Geralt-type witcher, crossover fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: This is an unfinished crossover I decided to post (the first ever). I really enjoyed writing it and who knows, maybe finish it one day. We'll see. Anyways I finally decided to post it here to give people a chance to read what I've got. Comments are welcome.
Relationships: Flinthamilton - Relationship, Jack Rackham/Anne Bonny, James Flint/Thomas Hamilton, Thomas Hamilton/Miranda Hamilton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	The Trouble In The Woods

The two heavily armored guards stopped him at the door.

“Who are you and what is your business here?” the one to his left asked him.

“James Flint of Rivia,” said James. “I’m here to answer Lord Hamilton’s request.”

He reached towards his belt and immediately the guards bristled, their tall pikes leaning towards him menacingly. James raised an eyebrow.

“I’m only reaching for a scroll,” he said, moving more slowly now. He should not have been surprised, however. These lands were even more dangerous now with the threat of monsters, let alone the threat of human enemies.

He presented the scroll to them. It was one of several that had made its way as far as his homeland, asking for assistance in quelling two unknown beasts terrorizing Lord Hamilton’s people and land.

The guards looked at him with even more suspicion now and he knew why. One of them leaned in to whisper into his companion’s ear. Normal human hearing would not have discerned his words, but James was able to hear them rather easily.

_“I thought all witchers had white hair, didn’t you?”_

_“Yes but his eyes…”_

James bit down on his gum to keep from smirking. He was quite aware of his kind’s odd white hair color, as he was aware that his was currently a reddish bronze color, more normal. But nothing could hide his eyes. They were a dark orange and his pupils were vertical slits, unlike the eyes of a normal human’s.

“Come with us,” one of them gruffed to him now.

James followed them through the door and into a large and open courtyard. There were vendors here, as well as a blacksmith, but mostly it was filled with more guards milling around, some of them practicing battle strategies. They walked straight through and to another set of larger doors. One of the guards knocked on the heavy black knocker. The door groaned open. James recognized the different outfits of the royal guards who opened it. His scroll was passed on to them and they in turn led him inside the castle. He was surrounded on all sides by evidence of great wealth, the kind of wealth only lords and kings now possessed. He was guided over to a great table, where a group of nobles were gathered, eating and drinking. One man in particular noticed him before the others, setting his cup down and rising. The two guards on either side of him seemed to close in on him.

“Lord Hamilton,” said one of them. The man—a tall blonde man whom James instantly pegged for the lord—approached them. The scroll was handed to him.

“He says he’s here to slay the monsters,” said one of the guards. “A James Flint of Rivia.”

James soured at the miscommunication. Answering a request and actually killing monsters were two different things.

“And he’s a witcher, from the looks of it,” the guard added with not a little mistrust.

Lord Hamilton’s shockingly blue eyes landed on him fully. He extended his hand. James gripped it.

“A witcher?” asked Lord Hamilton, brow raised as he looked dubiously at James’s hair and beard. James waved a palm over his face and head and repeated the spell. There was a small gust of wind and then his hair was pure white. The guards and the lord startled. Lord Hamilton cracked a smile.

“A simple illusion,” said James, “used to keep one such as myself more inconspicuous.”

“Delightful,” Lord Hamilton said. He motioned to the guards. “You may leave us.”

The two annoyances at his side finally left.

“James Flint of Rivia, I am Lord Thomas Hamilton,” said Hamilton. “Welcome to London. You must pardon the guards. Everyone has been on edge here in recent weeks, which is the reason for my advertisements,” he added, laying the scroll down on a table. He guided James to walk with him around the great hall.

“I must confess my curiosity,” said James, “upon hearing not one but two unidentified monsters in this area.”

“Yes well, I know more than I let on,” replied Hamilton. “I did not want to outright scare citizens or potential business out of the region completely, and I have my own confession to make.”

Here he glanced up to James, ice-blue eyes still surprising to James, and set on a kind face.

“I was hoping to attract one of your kind,” finished the lord. “I’ve known of the impressive skills of witchers for most of my life, and your kind’s reputation for being able to slay even the most formidable of foes. And yet, not a day and a half after I had ordered the scrolls to be sent out far and wide, news comes to me of corruption within the witcher ranks.”

James let out a controlled sigh and looked away. Here it was again.

“Mind you, I’m not the kind of lord who thrives on gossip. I pay it no mind, unless it’s supported by strong evidence. And the news I heard…”

“Two witchers, arrested,” James interrupted him. “One in Skellige for blackmailing a baron and another for exploiting a family who hired him to slay a nest of ghouls. He kept insisting the only way to defeat them was if the family made weekly sacrifices of gold to him, because the coins would attract the ghouls to where he could slay them more easily. They went broke. A neighbor reported his crimes, one who knew a thing or two about ghouls and how they wouldn’t know what a piece of gold even was.”

James stopped and met the lord’s gaze.

“I am well acquainted with the news, my lord,” he said.

“Well then, you can understand my newfound concern in hiring you then,” said Hamilton. “There have always been rumors of your kind, but until now I was prepared to dismiss them as simple discrimination.”

James had to consciously unclench his jaw. _Your kind. Your kind._ That phrase, over and over, everywhere he went. Never witchers, always your kind, as though he himself were some type of inhuman beast. Still, it was good to hear that the lord had not previously doubted witchers, but the news of the two witchers’ criminal actions was hard to ignore.

“I do understand,” said James at length. “But as for myself, I can only offer you my word, that I am no such witcher. There are plenty of us who are still proud to be witchers, and who are faithful to our code to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

“For a fee, of course,” added Hamilton, though not unkindly.

“We all must make our living,” said James with a shrug.

“Indeed,” said Hamilton. His lips were slightly parted as he gazed on James for what James thought to be too long to be proper. Was he still so suspicious of him? Hamilton continued their walk, looking ahead.

“I have a condition, then, if I am to hire a witcher,” he said. “I ask that you slay the first monster that terrorizes my northern boarders, a heavily wooded area. If you manage to slay it and I do not lose more citizens to its terror, then I will pay you half your reward. Then you may proceed to attend the second monster.”

“And where is it located?”

“On the opposite side of my lands, I’m afraid. The distance between the two has forced me to deploy many soldiers in both directions, leaving me more vulnerable here. And my losses are too great to send any more men.”

“And the nature of this second monster?”

Hamilton smiled tightly, hands folded behind his back. “If and when you are ready to fight it, I will let you know. Those are my terms. I hope they are agreeable?”

James paused.

“And what is the sum of these kills to be?”

“Thirteen hundred crowns.”

Well. That was quite a prize, he thought. Thirteen hundred crowns would see him well-to-do for three, perhaps four months. It mattered little in the way of not hunting, however. He knew he would still seek out monsters to slay, no matter the pay.

“I accept,” he said.

“Ah, very good,” said the lord.

James offered his hand and Hamilton shook it. His grip was more firm this time. Hamilton clamped another hand on top of their hands, his smile warm.

“Will you be able to join me for dinner in a few hours?” he asked. As he released James’s hand his other hand seemed to linger. James frowned.

“Apologies, but I don’t normally socialize with nobility,” said James. “Not to offend,” he added quickly when Hamilton’s smile started turning, “it’s just that…my _kind,_ as you put it…aren’t known for their social skills.”

That was a lie, he knew. Witchers could be as solitary or social as any individual human. He was the former. He’d especially had never felt comfortable with nobility, and despite his own anger at being the target of discrimination he’d met his fair share of arrogant rich men, Hamilton’s charming smile and blue eyes nonwithstanding.

“Oh I hope you’ll reconsider,” Hamilton said instead. “It will not be here, but in private, with just myself and my wife. She would very much like to meet you, and you may very well need her assistance in dealing with the leshen.”

James’s eyes snapped up. “The leshen?”

Hamilton looked down, cheeks reddening ever so slightly. “Ack, I’ve given it away. Yes. The creature haunting my northern lands is the same. As I said earlier, I did not want to frighten the populace too much.”

“It’s highly uncommon for someone to know what a leshen is,” said James bluntly. “Especially a lord.”

“Yes,” agreed Thomas, looking up at him with one brow cocked. “I’ve studied monsters and creatures extensively since I was an adolescent. They fascinate me. When the villagers recounted to me the old tales of woodland spirits that used to live in those woods and how their ancestors used to worship them, I put that together with these new stories I heard about this creature, namely that it was immensely tall and sprouted almost deer-like antlers.”

Hamilton’s face sobered. “Unless of course I’m wrong and you think otherwise…?”

“No,” James said slowly, eyeing the lord with greater interest now. “Leshen are the only monsters with deer-like antlers.”

Hamilton smiled a little. “I thought so.”

James crossed his arms. He couldn’t quite smell something funny afoot here, but he knew he did not like being played with.

“Is there anything else you know that I should know about you, my lord? I don’t enjoy mind games.”

“Oh no, I am sorry, James—if I may call you James—I did not mean to make you feel that way. I only…well, as I’m sure you’ve already assumed unfortunately, your ki—witchers are not generally welcomed here, and my own interests regarding monsters and lore would be seen as strange, to say the least. I’m not used to talking about either. Please pardon me.”

James huffed out a sigh. Despite himself the lord seemed genuine, even when James tuned in to his witcher senses he could not make out the slightest indication that Hamilton was being deceitful in any way. Interesting, indeed.

“Very well,” he gruffed. “May I ask what possible assistance your wife could give me, then?”

Hamilton grew somber, a shade clouding his gaze.

“She witnessed the brutality of the thing that terrorizes my eastern farmlands, I’m afraid. A few weeks ago she was en route from visiting a friend of ours in Novigrad. Her caravan was attacked by it; some enormous type of dragon, I believe. She barely made it out alive with but a few guards and her handmaiden.”

“Are you certain it was a dragon?”

Hamilton blinked as if coming out of a reverie. “What?”

“There are several different species of draconids,” said James.

“I’m not sure. But they said it was larger than any that have been seen in recent years.”

James nodded, processing this and already making a potential list in his mind. He reluctantly agreed to meet with Lord Hamilton’s wife for dinner. The lord offered him a room to stay in but James insisted on sleeping in his own camp outside of the castle walls. He knew no one here and so trusted no one, though Lord Hamilton seemed harmless enough. Furthermore, as he passed through the royal courtyard again his decision was re-affirmed when he caught the looks the people threw at him as he passed by. He’d not changed his hair color back to red and so now it was obvious what he was.

*

He set up his small camp just outside the castle walls, away from the bright flicker of the village. When dinner time arrived he was escorted back inside the castle, this time a long flight of stairs. The room he stepped inside was spacious and no less lavishly decorated than the rest of the castle he’d seen, but there was a more intimate feel to it. A dining table took up much of the center. The food was all laid out. He could smell everything before him and his stomach growled in response.

Lord Hamilton rose to greet him and so did his wife.

“Lady Miranda Hamilton,” she introduced herself with a pleasant nod. Hamilton’s wife was beautiful and carried a more tepid expression than did her husband. Suspicious, he knew. He was used to it.

“Has my husband told you of his fascination with witchers, James?” she asked him as they began to eat.

“Darling, you’re overstating a bit,” Hamilton cut in politely.

“Oh don’t be silly,” said Miranda with a roll of her eyes. They flicked to James and seemed to almost glitter at him.

“Thomas was quite excited this afternoon after chatting with you,” she continued, nonplussed by her husband’s blushing cheeks. The corner of James’s mouth ticked up. How amusing.

“He would probably be out there trying to slay monsters himself if he weren’t a lord,” she added.

“You seem to take that in stride,” said James, putting a delicious piece of pork into his mouth.

“Yes well,” said Lady Hamilton, toning down somewhat, “My own recent encounter nonwithstanding, I admire him for being interested in things other than politics and all the other boring topics lords should be interested in.”

“And what happened,” asked James, “When you encountered this draconid? The more information I have, the easier it will be to attack and kill it.”

“One thing at a time, James, remember?” said Hamilton, touching the end of his nose with a fingertip.

James didn’t like being told what to discuss and what not to discuss where his business was concerned, but he let it go. For now.

“Very well. The leshen, then. More details on that. Start at the beginning.”

Lord Hamilton recounted to him the first stories he’d heard of the leshen attacks. Lady Hamilton assisted him, often jumping in to provide further details her husband forgot. James was impressed with how well they had paid attention and mentally documented the monster thus far.

“So that’s a total of twelve victims,” the lord finished. “And over half of them are villagers, including the child I told you about. The people living in that area are terrified to set foot in the woods, even to gather food or water. They are having to travel over two miles each day to the neighboring village for some supplies. So you can see the urgency.”

James nodded. He finished chewing and swallowing the last of his pork. One good thing about dealing with nobility was always the meals.

“I’ll talk to those villagers tomorrow morning,” he said now, taking a long drink of red wine. “Hopefully they’ll be able to show me some evidence of the leshen so I can begin to track it.”

“How long do you think it will take before you can find and kill it?” asked Lady Hamilton.

James shrugged. “Hard to say. Leshens are notoriously reclusive until they make an attack, and their lairs are deep in the woods.”

Lord Hamilton was watching him from over the rim of his wine glass as he drank. He sat it down and nodded.

“Please know that whatever you may need I’m willing to provide it to you,” he said. “If you need a contingent of my men to accompany you…”

“That won’t be necessary,” said James, wiping his mouth and rising. “They would only get themselves killed. I’ll be working alone.”

“Very well,” said Hamilton.

“I should be going now.”

“So soon?” asked the lord, rising quickly. “Won’t you stay for dessert? Perhaps try your hand at a card game with me?”

“No, thank you,” said James as politely as he could. “I need to digest both the meal and the information you’ve both provided me tonight.”

James took his leave of them again. Once he was back at his camp he did as he’d told them, but he also found himself wondering about Lord Hamilton himself. He was intrigued that a lord would show such interest in figures as controversial as witchers, even more so in studying monsters. It spoke of a man who was not entirely part of the system, who perhaps was more open-minded than most of his ilk was. Lady Hamilton, too, seemed to share her husband’s mind on many things. But there was something about Lord Hamilton that his brain was stuck on. Those blue eyes.

James shook himself out of his thoughts and prepared for bed.

*

He loaded up gear and supplies on his horse and set out early the next morning, heading north. Lord Hamilton told him the village, St. Kitts, would be roughly a day’s journey from his estate. Much of the land here was comprised of wild fields and meadows, with several well-trodden paths. It was beautiful here, too. James enjoyed this part of his travels as a witcher, being able to see new lands and learn new types of plants and trees. But it was good to see familiarity as well. In particular, this region was home to peach trees. He’d seen many dotting the fields already, their fruit large and ripe this time of year. Surely a staple to the villagers.

But all was not completely serene. His horse snorted and paused twice while on their path, and James got the distinct feeling he was being followed. At one point his enhanced sense heard a twig snap somewhere behind him and to his right. He whipped out his crossbow and jerked his head around, but after a moment only a stray dog came out of the bushes, chasing a rabbit across the field. He sighed and put away his crossbow, but he was not satisfied the dog was his follower.

He made good time the rest of the day and reached St. Kitts before sunset. The presence he sensed seemed to have vanished. More than likely it was the usual group of men who hated witchers and wished to harass him. It would not be the first time. It also would not be the first time they had changed their minds. A good choice on their part, because the last time James had found himself surrounded by such men, he’d been the only one to walk away, mostly unscathed.

He mumbled the words of his illusion spell before entering the village proper, changing his hair back to its more common bronze-red. Now he would look like just another warrior or soldier from a far-off land from a distance, saving him from scrutiny about his eyes unless he was close to someone.

His first stop, as always, was the village tavern. He followed behind a group of men and women going inside and went straight to the bar. The woman behind it was strikingly dressed in a dark and shiny blue dress with black trim. It went well with her strikingly beautiful soft brown face. The woman had noticed him behind the group he had followed inside. She noticed him now as he sat down on a stool and splayed his hands out on the counter. She finished clearing a section of the bar and walked over to him.

“May I help you?” she asked in a foreign and eloquent accent.

“Are you the owner of this tavern?”

“I am. Mademoiselle Max, at your service.”

“I’m looking for some information, and this is usually the place to start.”

Max’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“If you are here seeking the names of men to take your revenge out on, please seek them elsewhere. I run a clean establishment here.”

“No, nothing like that,” James said. “Perhaps if I purchased a pitcher of your finest ale first.”

He put a number of coins on the counter. Max regarded him again, her eyes sharp as she accepted his currency. Wordlessly she went about pouring his drink; some medium-dark concoction that reminded James of his favorite brew back home. Max sat it down in front of him and leaned on the bar with one arm so that she could see the rest of the tavern while being in earshot of him.

“What do you think I can help you with?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the rest of the room. James quirked a grin.

“You are very vigilant,” he observed, taking a sip. “Unusual for an innkeep not of the city.”

“Vigilance is more important and less common than ever around here,” she replied smoothly.

James nodded. “St. Kitts has a monster problem. I am here to help with that.”

Max’s eyes flashed to his. “A witcher from Nassau, yes, I would say you are.”

James raised his brow.

“I’m impressed.”

Max shrugged. “Obviously your eyes designate you as a witcher, even if the hair does not. And your coin is from the southern realms. And I have heard tales from Nassau since I was little about your kind there. A lucky guess.”

James took another sip of his ale. It was good, but not as good as his favorite brew.

“Would you be willing to tell me whom I might speak to for more information on the trouble in the woods, then?” he asked.

Max considered this, eyes ever searching her tavern, before returning squarely to his own, her expression troubled.

“They say it is massive, with great antlers and long claws, capable of tearing its victims to shreds. They say the bodies of those it has slain are too maimed for a public funeral.”

James nodded somberly. “It is a force to be reckoned with. I am the same,” he added.

At this Max’s lips curved upward.

“Very well then. I know where you may start.”

James left the tavern with two names. The first belonged to a village woman, now a widow, who had lost her husband to the leshen. James went to her home, following Max’s directions. The woman was scarcely in her thirties, still grieving. There was much to muddle through in the story she told him, bereft as it was with her raw emotion and obvious love for her late husband, but James got what he needed.

The attack, she told him, happened were most of the other attacks had taken place in a certain area of the woods the men used to go to for wood and the women to clean clothes at a wide stream. The attacks, she said, had no particular time of day and had happened both in the middle of the day and after dark. That was a strong sign of a leshen, James knew. They were not creatures guided by the movement of the sun or moon. Anyone who trespassed onto their territory was fair game, at any time.

Next James headed towards the outskirts of the village, down a small hill and to the home of a man named Jack Rackham. Max indicated that he would be a most “interesting” man to speak to. He dubbed himself the local historian of all of London.

“Jack Rackham?” James asked to the small man with a funny beard cut and disheveled hair who stood at the door.

Jack blinked. “Yes, I am. Who wants to know?”

“James of Rivia. Max sent me.”

Jack let out a huff and seemed to relax. He pulled out a full length sword from where he’d been holding it behind the door and tucked it into his belt.

“Thank the gods,” said Jack, opening the door for him. “I thought more of those fucking baboons had returned to attempt and kill me. Please, make yourself at home.”

Jack’s home was interesting enough. There were herbs aplenty hanging from the rafters and shelves filled with dozens and dozens of jarred things, some of which seemed like plants, some animals, and some were filled with things James wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. A hundred different smells assaulted his nostrils. And there were books everywhere, both in two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and scattered haphazardly out on a table with magnifying glasses.

“Max said you were a historian of sorts,” he commented, trying not to be overwhelmed by everything. Jack cleared off a chair hidden by maps, tripping over a lantern on the floor.

“She’s always so modest. I am the historian of this area, the only one who knows what he’s talking about, let me tell you. I know everything there is to know about these lands, old rulers, family lineages, the fauna and flora…”

“What about leshens?”

Jack stopped stumbling around and stood up straight, face brightening.

“Ah, you are here to fight the leshen, then? Excellent! I have a tome around here somewhere…”

“That…won’t be necessary just now,” said James, still standing. “Could you stand still, please?”

Jack stopped moving, hands on his hips. Then he sat down unceremoniously in the single chair.

“Apologies. I become quite animated when someone shows deserved interest in my knowledge.”

“Yes, well I—”

“You didn’t happen to see a particular woman at the tavern just now, did you?” Jack interrupted. “Perhaps with Max? Long, bright red hair, much brighter than yours, and a hat low on her head?”

“Um, no, but I wasn’t really looking.”

Jack frowned and made a vague waving gesture with his hand.

“She should have been back by now. I told her not to antagonize those stupid imbeciles. One of them tried to lay a hand on her last week and now I’m afraid he doesn’t have a hand.”

James crinkled his nose, growing impatient.

“Is she your wife?” he dared ask.

“Ah, no, not exactly. I mean, yes, in spirit and feeling anyway. Anne is the most tenacious and strong-willed woman I’ve ever met.”

“A riveting love story, I’m sure,” James droned flatly. “But can we return to the leshen, please.”

Jack frowned at him briefly.

“Very well. What is it you seek to know?”

James recounted to him the widow’s story, of which Jack was already familiar. He then began telling James of the other deaths that had come before it, including stories of the forest predators behaving more aggressively than was normal, and of the ravens in the area attacking people who entered the woods. James agreed this was most certainly the signs of a leshen.

“And I have some items that may be of interest in combating it,” said Jack, rising and going over to the jarred objects. “Some repellents that may serve you when you meet it.”

At that moment the front door burst open, startling both men. A woman with flowing red hair and a hat pulled low over her face barged in.

“Anne, I presume?” said James.

“Darling!” said Jack.

Anne looked at him and then to Jack.

“Who the fuck is he?”

“This is James Flint, a witcher, here to slay our leshen,” said Jack proudly.

Anne looked at James from head to toe, completely unimpressed, but her eyes were wild.

“Haven’t got time for that shit right now. They’re on their way here.”

“Who?” asked Jack.

Anne busied herself with handing Jack a sword, despite the one already in his belt, as she picked up two short swords from a table (James marveled at her ability to see them amongst the clutter).

“Brutus and his fucking men,” said Anne.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, I told you not to engage them…”

“They think I stole a fucking goat from one of them, stupid ingrates!” said Anne.

From outside James could hear a clamor of male voices growing near.

“I think they are here,” he said calmly.

“Shit,” muttered Jack. He clamped a hand on James’s shoulder.

“Help me fight them off and I will help you with the leshen, yes?”

James sneered and groused under his breath but nodded.

“Hurry up!” called Anne from just outside. “There’s four of them.”

James came outside with Jack just as the four men stepped onto Jack’s property. The one in front—Brutus, James figured—clamored loudly at them. James caught the whiff of strong alcohol coming from his breath.

The fight was short-lived. The men, not expecting a third party, split up and two attacked James. He bested them easily, scarcely needing his sword. Once he had one of them on his back and stabbed him in the leg, the second man surrendered and begged for his life. Jack and Anne had successfully downed the other two men. Anne’s skills with her two short swords were deadly, and her prey lay dead. Jack’s man was down but still alive. He stumbled to his feet and joined his remaining friend. Anne forced them to apologize and to never bother her or Jack again.

“Well,” said Jack almost joyously, “That takes care of that.”

James looked at the two dead men and the blood on the ground.

“All of this over a goat?”

“I didn’t fucking touch his damn goat,” Anne declared in an even but scathing tone. “He got drunk and lost the damn thing.”

Once James had helped them get rid of the bodies they went back inside, where Jack presented him with a particular jar, once he had found it. It was full of a dark green plant.

“Fireweed,” he explained. “You wish to slay the leshen, but if its lair remains, another one may move in, or something as equally dangerous. Once it is gone, spread this in and around its lair. It will ensure no other leshen moves in. If you can spread it around the area, so much the better. It will help put the people’s minds at ease.”

*

He left the Rackham residence with the jar of fireweed. He had no idea if the stuff would truly work or not, but if it did then he would certainly acquire more of it.

It was dark as he mounted his horse and rode through the village. He knew he needed to wait until morning before he entered the woods and dealt with the leshen but he decided to camp close to the forest anyway. If another attack occurred he would be there to try and stop it, at least.

He was scarcely out of the village when his witcher senses again told him he was not alone. Something, very close this time, was watching him.

He dismounted and drew his sword.

“Whoever’s there, show yourself now, or suffer my blade later,” he yelled into the surrounding darkness. He was just a stone’s throw from the woods, and woodlands made him cautious regardless. Even if there were no monsters to contend with, most forests harbored wolves, bears, and criminal highwaymen.

His cat-like eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. There, straight ahead of him, a figure seemed to manifest out of nowhere and walked towards him.

James gripped his steel sword and braced himself. The figure walked to him almost casually and with the form and sway of a female.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The figure removed the broad hood of her cloak from her head. James was momentarily taken aback.

“Lady Hamilton,” he managed.

Miranda Hamilton stood in front of him with a smile.

“The one and the same,” she answered. “I am glad to see my husband hired a man of caution and good sense,” she added, eyeing James’s fighting posture. James relaxed and re-sheathed his sword.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he gruffed. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Hm, I’ll be the judge of that,” Miranda replied as she walked past him and looked to the black mass of trees before them. James looked more carefully at her. She wore no lady’s dress or corset under her cloak, but rather a familiar-looking outfit not unlike his own; long sleeves and tight trousers, tucked inside high black boots. Her cloak was of a deep purple. He smirked. It was clear now why she had been able to so carefully conceal herself from him earlier.

“So does all that teleporting ever give you a headache?” he asked.

Miranda glanced sideways at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sure you know. I have friends who are sorceresses.”

Miranda turned to him, eyes dancing mischievously as two pinpricks of moonlight.

“The game is over, then. But I was never really trying to deceive you, James of Rivia. I only meant to stay hidden from the village. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

She helped him set up camp, refusing once again to return home and insisting on staying the night.

“Your husband made no mention of this,” James said as they sat around a small fire. “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Lady Hamilton sat back and seemed to chuckle at the notion.

“That would be quite scandalous, wouldn’t it? Running off to be with the town’s newest and most interesting arrival. But no, he does, in fact, know I’ve followed you here.”

Now James was perplexed. The Hamiltons, it seemed, were the most intriguing high class couple he’d met.

Miranda explained that Lord Hamilton knew of his wife’s practice in the dark arts, and was also very protective of helping her keep such knowledge a secret from the public. Miranda didn’t have to explain to him how unorthodox it was for a woman of her standing to be a sorceress; it was even more scandalous than her husband’s preoccupation with his own odd studies into the supernatural.

“I convinced him shortly after you departed I could help you with his leshen,” she said. “Since my mind was already made up to go with you to confront the draconid afterwards, he saw little point in arguing this with me.”

“Something tells me that is a smart move on his part,” said James. “Your husband seems to be both intelligent and well learned, two things rather uncommon these days.”

“Quite,” she agreed, smiling broadly.

Though he was growing tired from the day’s activities James wanted to hear more about Lord Hamilton. He realized he was rather taken with the man, but James had come across his fair share of attractive men on his journeys. Yet Hamilton was more than just a pretty face, it seemed.

Miranda was in a talkative mood and seemed as engaged to discuss her and her husband as James was to listen. As they both grew tired and the conversation faded James put out the fire and they went inside his tent.

“So what do you think of my lord?” she asked as she settled down on James’s extra bed roll.

“I think he’s extremely trusting to allow his wife to bed beside a strange man, for starters,” he drolled.

Miranda chuckled, then gave him a particular look, biting slightly on her lower lip.

“Something tells me you have no inappropriate intentions with me. Thomas feels the same.”

Her tone was implying something, James was certain. He ignored it, for now.

“Oh he does, does he?” he scoffed as he got comfortable. “You’ve known me a single day. Perhaps neither of you have the same good sense you claim I have.”

He rolled over without looking at her reaction but James could practically feel the smile on her lips.

*


End file.
